


Lagging

by Miracule



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene, angsty angst, caleb in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 22:39:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4455164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miracule/pseuds/Miracule
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another Epiphany one-shot.  "To Caleb, Benjamin Tallmadge was more than a kind soul, a gentle demeanor, and a handsome face.  He was light.  He was the heat of the hearth before the sun comes up on a winter morning [...]."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lagging

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for Ben and Caleb and I'm a sucker for angst, so here ya go. oh! i also made up the fact that caleb has a brother somewhere. if that's true, go me!

Caleb couldn’t quite explain his relationship with Benjamin Tallmadge; not entirely. He told people that they were good friends; that they had known each other since they were young boys in Setauket. ‘He’s like a baby brother to me now,’ he would say, sometimes, when he felt generous. But even that wasn’t the whole truth. He _had_ a brother, and there was certainly a palpable difference between his love for said brother and his affection for Ben.

Occasionally, Caleb couldn’t help but wonder how he would manage if Ben were gone—dead or otherwise. After all, for someone who was fast friends with everybody he met, Caleb had felt startlingly alone when Ben had been away at college. To Caleb, Benjamin Tallmadge was more than a kind soul, a gentle demeanor, and a handsome face. He was light. He was the heat of the hearth before the sun comes up on a winter morning. He was Goodness incarnate, although he’d never admit that.  

To his own surprise, Caleb had never wearied of Ben’s company. They bickered often—as men do—but throughout their adult years, they had remained the closest of friends. Distance didn’t matter either; after being away from each other for any length of time, they always reunited for a drink in Setauket. In fact, Ben’s friendship was something that Caleb cherished so dearly that the very thought of life without it set his teeth on edge.

Once, when Ben had fallen ill during a term at Yale, he’d written a letter to Caleb full of fear and old, half-forgotten childhood memories. It was very much a goodbye, and Caleb had nearly been taken ill himself when he sat down to read it. He had written back, urging Ben to come home and recover. But of course, by the time the letter reached Yale, Ben was already on the mend. When he returned to Setauket that Christmas, his first words to Caleb were, “My dearest friend, I’m so sorry." 

Still, Caleb had resented Ben for even entertaining thoughts of the grave. So, naturally, in 1775, when Ben began to express a cautious interest in joining the New York militia, Caleb had been less than pleased.

“You’re a schoolteacher, Ben,” he said, firmly. Ben looked up from his book for the sole purpose of gazing coolly at his friend.

Finally, he sighed and snapped the old volume shut. “Caleb, I’ve told you...it would only be for a while. Just until they get on their feet. They probably won’t even need us come the new year.”    

“And if they do?”

“Well, I don’t know, then. I have to do _something_.”

 “Be a schoolteacher,” Caleb muttered. “Teach your Greek philosophy and whatever else.”

 “Ha!” Ben’s voice was sharp and clear, “And when I _begged_ you to avoid the whaling industry? When I said, ‘Caleb, don’t, it’s far too dangerous for a man like you’?”

 Caleb bristled. “That’s different. I needed the money.”

 Ben heaved another sigh. “I need to do my part,” he insisted, leaning toward Caleb’s chair. He continued in a softer tone, “I’ll be fine. No need to worry about me.” He reached out to squeeze Caleb’s arm, which Caleb begrudgingly allowed him to do.

 “Yeah? Well, if you get blown to bits out there, I swear on me dead mother’s grave that I’ll find you in heaven and never let you hear the last of it.”

 Here in Pennsylvania, he still remembered vividly how Ben tried not to smile, failed, and then how the skin around his eyes crinkled and his cheeks became round.  

 Throughout Ben’s service in 1775, he sent Caleb letters detailing the sort of undignified work that they had him doing. He sent other letters complaining of the lack of good food. Later, he even wrote to Caleb of a fatal accident that had claimed the life of one of his superiors. He said that he had never watched anybody die before—excluding his elderly grandmother—and that it was a very odd, frightening experience.

 That, Caleb thought, wasn’t a wholly accurate thing to say about death; not anymore. At _this_ point in their lives, death had become mundane. They’d gotten used to it. At least, Caleb thought that he had, until Ben had threatened to die on him.

 After all, there was Caleb—on an icy bank of the Delaware, at some ungodly hour in the morning—staring down in terror at the pale, pretty face of a young man. Only, this poor bastard wasn’t some new recruit; this was his dear friend Ben Tallmadge.

 In the pale morning light, Ben _looked_ dead. Even as he continued to draw these shallow, rhythmic breaths, Caleb almost believed that he was, and that all hope was already lost. They had managed to keep him warm back in the boat, but Caleb knew that it wasn’t enough to see him through. Ben still drifted in and out of consciousness—sometimes coherent, sometimes less so. He simply couldn’t stay awake, so Caleb was compelled to simply keep him warm and wait.  

 And as he watched the men hurry to build a fire, Caleb remembered.  

 As they hauled their captain out of the water, Caleb had broken the silence with a whispered, “Jesus, Ben, _Jesus_.”

 “I’m all right,” Ben said, although his words were already beginning to slur. There was no time to spare. Despite some feeble noise of protest, Caleb tore at his friend’s clothing as quickly as he could. Ben was no help, and Caleb feared that it wasn’t at all fast enough. Another man came to his aid, but the unnatural dark that consumed the Delaware hindered their progress.   Ben shook relentlessly under his touch, which was good, Caleb thought—good for now.

 “Come on, Tall-boy, warm yourself up,” Caleb pleaded, under his breath. Finally, somebody found where they’d stashed a spare blanket and proceeded to drape it across Ben’s narrow shoulders. Caleb wrapped it around to cover as much of Ben as he could, and quietly reprimanded his friend for being too damn skinny. Ben was silent, so Caleb cupped his face—he was far too cold—and said, “Ben. _Benjamin_. Come on, boy, look at me.” There was nothing at all. Even the shivering had abated.

 Caleb swore under his breath and opened up his coat, his vest, down to his shirt.   He pulled Ben—who was all too pliable—into his arms; held him fast against his chest. Caleb’s fingers brushed Ben’s hair and it felt like touching ice, so he adjusted the blanket to cover Ben’s head and held it there. He could _just_ feel Ben’s warm breath tickling his collarbone. Of course, the time until they reached the shore had seemed to stretch into eternity.

 When a soldier finally arrived with hot water, Caleb had to slap his friend’s cheek to wake him. Ben blinked up at him, slowly. When he asked, “W-What is it?” in a worryingly bewildered tone, Caleb’s heart sank. Ben’s incessant shivering wouldn’t allow him to hold the cup, but Caleb was eager to help him drink. At the same time, he leaned over to peer into Ben’s face and saw that his lips, at least, had lost their dull, bluish tinge and returned to their usual soft pink.

 Even in this state, Ben was beautiful, and it brought Caleb some comfort to know that if Ben died here, at least he wouldn’t die bloated and bloodied on some unknown battlefield.  

 Regardless, Ben could hardly keep his eyes open, and he had only taken a few sips of water when his body went slack in Caleb’s arms. Despite the cold, Caleb sweated as he shifted Ben’s weight. He wouldn’t put him back on the ground, so Caleb hoisted Ben up against his chest and held him.

 Later that day, Caleb spent most of his time pitching a makeshift tent. He realized early on that he would have to spend the night by the river, as Ben had been awake for maybe an hour since that morning, and even when he _was_ awake, he was hardly lucid. The skin under his freshly-dried clothes was warm to the touch, but the cold had clearly taken its toll; Caleb could hardly get a sentence out of him.

 So, when the sun began to drop through the trees, Caleb wrapped Ben in all of the blankets he had before setting out to find something for them to eat. But his legs and his arms felt heavier than lead, and he ended up haggling with a few of the men for one of the rabbits they’d caught. They were hesitant to give it up, but Captain Tallmadge was well-liked, and the men were eager to see him back on his feet.

 Before he left the heat of their fire, Caleb asked where they would go next. “Some people say Trenton,” said one, cradling his gun as if he expected an armed redcoat to leap from the nearest bush. Caleb nodded, thanked them, and stumbled off into the gloom toward the river bank.

 As he skinned the rabbit, he talked—more to keep himself awake than anything. He felt as if he could sink to the ground and simply fall asleep right there. But every once in a while, he would glance at Ben—who was little more than a sharp pink nose poking out of a blanket—and he would worry.

 “You know why you can’t die?” he muttered in Ben’s direction. “You’re still a virgin.”

 Some time later, as Caleb was turning the rabbit over the fire, he looked up only to be startled by a pair of wide, watery eyes staring back at him.

 “Caleb?”

 There was an odd, fearful quality to Ben’s voice, and Caleb almost couldn’t believe that it was really him speaking. Immediately, he stuck his spit into the frozen ground and dropped onto his knees at Ben’s side.

 “Easy, boy, easy,” he said, in the most gentle tone he could muster. He pressed a palm to Ben’s cheek, brushed some hair from his face. “You’re all right.”

 His friend looked dazedly around the clearing, and Caleb couldn’t help but notice that Ben’s breath seemed to rattle in his chest. “Where are we?” he asked, struggling to prop himself up. But before Caleb could order him to lie down, Ben descended into a coughing fit that left him trembling with exertion.

 “We’re in Jersey,” Caleb told him, giving his back a good rub.

 “Jersey,” Ben repeated, as if he couldn’t believe it.

 “That’s right—now why don’t you just lie back...” Caleb eased him toward the ground, but Ben managed to get a hold of his collar and showed no signs of letting go.

 “Am I dying?” he asked. Caleb sucked in a breath. To his horror, tears had started to well up in Ben’s eyes, which were bright with the light of the fire.

 “No, you’re not dying,” said Caleb as he held the hand that Ben had wrapped around his shirt. “You gotta let me go, though, I hafta cook you some food.” It wasn’t that easy. Ben let out such a pathetic little noise that Caleb felt compelled to sit with him until he went back to sleep.

 Luckily, the Ben who woke up the next morning was very much the Ben that Caleb knew and loved. “Where are the men?” were the first words he uttered, rather than, ‘Hello’ or, ‘Thank you for keeping me alive.’ At least he sounded stronger.

 “Right now? Gone,” Caleb answered, handing over the last of his whisky. Ben eyed him wearily as he took a small sip.   Keeping in mind that he hadn’t eaten, Caleb quickly grabbed the flask back. He wavered on whether or not to tell the truth before he cautiously explained to Ben that bounties were up, and how they were currently on their own.

 “Where are they headed?”

 Caleb’s heart skipped a beat. “Uh, Trenton.”

 “Trenton?”

 Caleb knew exactly where Ben would want to go, and he knew that Ben wouldn’t take no for an answer. He should have realized earlier; that was the way it had been for a while: Ben charging ahead, Caleb struggling to keep up.

 “You were in bad shape,” Caleb said as he helped Ben into a sitting position.

 Ben’s brow furrowed as he muttered, “I don’t remember.” He looked anxiously at Caleb and added, “Thank you for not leaving me behind, at least.”  

 Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, but Caleb was so stung that he could only laugh to disguise it. “Leave you?” he echoed. “When have I ever...” He trailed off, huffing. “Ben, what do you take me for?”

 “I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that,” Ben sighed, with an edge of frustration to his voice. “I was being...facetious.”  

 Caleb felt his cheeks grow hot with guilt. “What the hell does that mean?”

 “Well, it...it refers to when you make a joke out of something grave. If I remember correctly.”

 “Yale taught you well, eh?”

 Ben smiled wanly. “I’m sorry, Caleb.”

 “I’m only glad you’re here with me and not under there, all right?” Caleb pointed toward the water and felt mildly satisfied when Ben winced. “I hope that swivel gun was worth it.”

 “We have to follow the men,” Ben told him, softly. Caleb swore, but he didn’t argue. With Ben, there was no arguing.

 “Not until you eat something, anyway.” He made quite a big fuss of reaching for the spare meat that he’d wrapped in some cloth.

 “You’re angry with me,” Ben said. It was more of a statement than a question, but Caleb only shrugged. There was a pregnant pause, and Caleb could practically feel Ben’s soft gaze cutting through him.  

 His throat felt a little tight when he answered, “You gave me a real fright, Tall-boy, is all.”

 Ben fell very quiet, and Caleb realized that there was no way to make him understand just what his death would do to Caleb. Even at that moment, Caleb felt as if he needed to hold Ben firmly by the hand—lest the devil should appear in the thin winter sunlight to steal him away. He could not simply tell Ben, “I love you,” for that would end with Ben smiling and replying, “Of course, and I you!” without fully understanding the implications of saying so. Caleb meant it with every possible meaning—how a wife says “I love you” to her dear husband. When he thought to himself that he loved Ben, he meant that Ben was the _only_ person on God’s green earth that he wanted in _every_ sense of the word. If he had to choose between Ben and a place in Heaven, he’d choose Ben. But he wasn’t sure that Ben would do the same, and so he did not say, “I love you.”

 “You’re sure about Trenton?”

 Ben nodded.

 “Well, eat up, then.” Caleb began to put out the fire. As he worked, he realized that his entire body seemed to have grown numb to the world around him. “We’ve got a bit of a walk ahead of us.”


End file.
